


Before and After the In-Between

by NotAnIslander



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, In Universe, Post Epilogue, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAnIslander/pseuds/NotAnIslander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles as told from the perspective of Katniss and Peeta's children. Not in chronological order, but more like as the spirit moves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before and After

Before and After the In-Between

I see her sitting on the rock ledge, at their meeting place. She told me one time when I was younger, that this was the place she and her best friend would meet up when they went hunting. But that was before.  
My mother’s life is divided neatly into 2 sections. Before and after. Before, her life before consisted of her mother, her sister, and struggling to survive after the death of her father. It consisted of illegal hunting and trading. Keeping one step ahead of the authorities, knowing who to trust and who to avoid. Knowing who would give the best trade on the black market, and who to trade with because you wanted them on your side rather than not.  
Then there was her life after. My dad, the bakery, Haymitch, Buttercup, my sister and myself. No one is struggling to survive now. We have plenty of food. We definitely have plenty of love and laughter. But we have our own struggles. Days when mother can’t seem to focus, seems out of sorts. Times when father has to grip the side of a table or some chairs. Haymitch…   
But it’s always been the in-between time that I wonder about. My sister and I grew up hearing about The Hunger Games, The Rebellion, The Mockingjay. We knew these were important to our family and our story. Mother and Father told us about their parts, they showed us the Book. Sometimes people would stop by our house or they called on the phone. Mother and Father were always polite (well, Father was), but they never spoke long, and always said, “Thanks. Sorry. Have a good day.”  
Even though I knew all about this stuff, I didn’t know it. Not until today.  
Today was the day all of the children in the country, who are aged 12, go to school for a special assembly. Today was the day I saw my family story told in a different way. Told from someone else’s perspective. Today was the day I understood who my mother and father really were.  
My mother, who seems so aloof and separate from others. My father, with his people pleasing skills. These all started to make sense. I saw my parents as terrified teenagers fighting for each others’ lives. I saw them willing to sacrifice themselves for each other. I saw my mother, a leader of the rebellion, “If We Burn, You Burn With Us!” I saw my mother’s passion as an outsider would. And I realized my father has always been right. She doesn’t know the effect she can have.  
I saw my father pleading for a ceasefire. I saw him beaten and bruised. For the first time, I heard from another person about the torture The Capitol put him through. And I know how he struggles to continue to have victory over Snow.   
Every family has a story. Each generation adds something to the story to continue it. I have always known my parents story. But now I understand the meaning to their story. And I now understand that my sister and I aren’t merely addendums to my parents story. We are the moral to their story. We are the proof that life can go on, that it can be good again.  
My mother sits at our meeting place. My mother, so quiet and aloof from others. She is still The Mockingjay. She is still The Girl On Fire. But she is more, so much more than that.  
I am the son of the Mockingjay. I am the proud son of the Mockingjay, and her Boy With The Bread.


	2. Grandmother Passed Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a singular drabble, but more ideas kept popping into my head, so I decided to keep going. Here is another sentimental chapter from Katniss and Peeta's son's perspective.

Grandmother passed away.  
When we came home from school, we knew something was not quite right. Father was in the kitchen making cheese buns, and on the table was a letter from Annie Odair:

Dear Peeta and Katniss,  
I am sorry to write this to you, but your mother passed away last night. She had been ill for some time. We buried her in the Odair family plot. I will be sending a box with her belongings in it.  
Take care, and sorry for your loss.  
Annie

Grandmother Everdeen was an interesting woman. She and mother spoke on the phone weekly. She always wrote us, and remembered us on our birthdays. She sent us presents and trinkets at different times through the years. We would draw her pictures when we were younger, write her back as we got older, but we’d really only seen her once or twice. She didn’t like coming to District 12, and we never travelled to District 4 to see her (actually, we’ve never travelled anywhere). She and mother had a tense relationship. I’m sure it goes back to Before, when her father died. But also After, when Grandmother chose to go to District 4 instead of come back to 12 to be with Mother. I can’t imagine Mother leaving either my sister or me to fend for ourselves, even with someone like Haymitch to be there for us. Or, maybe I should say especially with someone like Haymitch. But that’s what Grandmother did, and that always stood in between Mother and Grandmother.

When we came home, and saw father in the kitchen, we knew mother would be upstairs. I don’t know if she was upset about her mother’s death, really, or if it was just one more loss she had to bear. One more person who “used to be.”

Isn’t it funny how someone who seems barely relevant to your daily life can suddenly make everything different? Father home from the bakery in the middle of the day. Mother, upstairs and in bed, silent in her grief. My sister and I left to think about what has happened and if there was anything we could do to make it better.

We went to the woods and found them there. We dug up 2 primrose bushes, just like the others that bloom by the side of the house. We weren’t sure if what we were doing would help or not, but it was all we could think of.  
As we dug the holes to put the bushes in, the front door opened, and there stood mother, tears in her eyes, and a small smile on her face. She came over and held us. A silent thank you. And then we knew. It was all good.


	3. Star Crossed Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the daughter has a book...

Mother is furious.  
My sister is mortified.  
And father? Father thinks it’s hilarious.  
Me? I’m just sitting back and watching it all happen.  
My sister had some friends over from school. They were doing what girls do, I suppose, sitting in her room talking and laughing. After they left, my sister went to help Father out at the bakery. Mother went into her room to see if there was any dirty laundry left behind. 

And that’s when she saw it.

Apparently one of my sister’s friends left a book.  
“The Star Crossed Lovers of District 12: Passion in the Pit of Despair!”  
It’s the first in a series.

“What the…?! I can’t believe this! Wait until I get a hold of Plutarch. Damn it! They can’t do this, can they? Shit. I will kill him! I swear I. Will. Kill. Him. If he ever steps foot in this district I will fire an arrow into his ass before he can even say Star Crossed Lovers. What the Hell is this? Shit. Where is my daughter?”  
That’s when she and Father walked in the door.  
“Mother! What are you doing in my room! Haven’t you ever heard of privacy? You had no right. No right to go in there without telling me!”  
“Excuse me? Whose house do you think this is little girl? Whose hard won house is this? It’s your father’s and mine. Please explain this book to me. NOW.”  
“Wren and her family were in the Capitol. I guess these books are all the rage there. She thought I might enjoy it. It’s nothing Mother, really, it’s nothing!”  
“Nothing? Nothing? They have taken a horrible thing that happened to your father and I and are using it for…for…THIS!?”

“Katniss, calm down. Really how bad can it be? It was a long time ago. At least they don’t call us the Crazy Brainwashed Lethal Lovers of District 12 anymore!”  
“Peeta. You are not helping.”

“Here, let me see it.  
“Katniss’ raven hair gleamed in the light of their small campfire, flowing in glossy waves over her heaving bosom, glistening with sweat. Peeta, leaning back against the cool cave wall, held her thighs with the same gentle firmness with which he kneaded bread. She leaned forward with parted lips – “

And that’s when my sister finally gets it. It’s not just a book. It’s a book about Mother and Father and …THAT!!!  
Which leads us to where we are now:  
Mother is furious.  
My sister is mortified.  
And Father thinks it’s hilarious.  
Me? I’m now looking at my parents in a whole different light.

“Hey look! There’s more! The Star Crossed Lovers of District 12: Coitus in the Quarter Quell  
The Star Crossed Lovers of District 12: Romping in Rebellion  
The Star Crossed Lovers of District 12: Reveling in the Reconstruction.  
“Do you think Plutarch will arrange for us to get a cut of the profits?” I ask.

Now I have a bump on my head from where Mother hit me with the book…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Lionheart_Rising for Beta-ing and being a contributing editor.


	4. Her Father's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the daughter's perspective.

Everyone has always said she had her father’s eyes.   
When she was little she thought that was silly. Why would they say she had her daddy's eyes? Because they were her eyes, of course. How could she have her father’s eyes? Whose eyes did he have if she had his? That’s just silly.

But as she grew older she realized what people meant. That her eyes just looked like her father’s. They were the same size, same shape. They were the same colour. She always thought it was funny that she looked just like her momma, but with her daddy’s eyes. And her little brother looked just like their daddy, but with their momma’s eyes. Like someone got them all mixed up or something. 

Now that she’s even older, she hopes she truly has her father’s eyes. Not just in looks, but in outlook. She hopes she can see the world as he does. She hopes she can see people the way her father sees people.   
When someone in town needs help, he’s one of the first ones to volunteer. Not because he feels he needs to, but because that’s the right thing to do. When he found out the children from the Community Home needed food, he was the first to send over extra bread from the bakery, no questions asked, no strings attached. Whenever Haymitch needs something, it’s her father who helps out (mostly because her mother gets annoyed with Haymitch more so than not). Her mother joins in eventually, but it’s second nature for her father to do something. He doesn’t even think about it, he just does it.  
Her mother is always so guarded, always so cautious when it comes to others. It isn’t that she doesn’t understand why her mother is the way she is. She knows all about the Hunger Games, and the Revolution, and the Mockingjay. She knows how her mother feels about that time in their lives. She knows why her mother is wary of strangers and anything that comes from the Capitol, or even other District’s- especially 13. But even though she knows all of this, she still hopes she has her father’s eyes.  
Her father is more trusting. He’s more willing to open up to new people. Her father lived through the Games with her mother. He was a prisoner of war, tortured, hijacked, even trained to hate her mother-which she finds totally unthinkable. And yet, after it is all over, after he has worked and struggled to become the man he is now, he still trusts others. He says he can’t live any other way. He can’t imagine that everyone has an agenda. If he did, he might still be the crazy one rotting away in the Capitol. He has to embrace life, embrace others, embrace hope. He has to.   
So when her mother starts worrying about something she’s seen on television, or something she’s heard around town, it’s her father who comforts her. When her mother wakes up screaming from the nightmares that still happen, it’s his arms that are always there to comfort her. It’s her father who still tells her mother it’s going to be OK. Reminds her how they’ve made it, how far they’ve come. Reminds her of the family and the life they’ve built together. Her mother always calls him her “dandelion” because he gave her hope when they were kids, when they were in the Games, when he came home after the War, and especially when she found out she was pregnant. He still gives her hope, every day. He reminds her of the book. How they promised to live a life that honours everyone they’ve lost, how life has to go on to give it all meaning. 

She wants to be a dandelion, just like her father. She wants to be someone full of hope and promise.   
She wants to truly have her Father’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago, Amy Grant had a song called, "My Father's Eyes". That is the inspiration for this chapter.


	5. Hero of Panem

I wonder what my parents will think of this? The assignment was to write a paper on a hero of Panem. It was our choice what hero we wanted to write about, but I don’t think my teacher expected my choice.

I think she wanted me to choose one of my parents for this assignment. But, I am not that stupid. I can’t imagine how upset Mother would be if I wrote about her. There are a few things I’ve learned in my life and the Number 1 thing I’ve learned is: “Don’t tell strangers about Mom. Period.” Rule Number 2: “Father doesn’t care if I talk about him. But Mother does.” She feels the public knows too much about them already- and I agree.

It’s amazing how both Mother and Father know just how much to allow Plutarch to put out there. And after that debacle with the “Star Crossed Lovers of District 12” book series, Plutarch won’t be over-stepping his boundaries anytime soon.

So, that leaves me in the situation I am in right now. My sister warned me what would happen when she found out what I was doing. But, she agrees with me- better the disappointment of my teachers and school friends than the disappointment of our parents. 

I have, in my hands, my graded assignment, with these comments:  
“This is a fine attempt, Mr. Mellark. Perhaps next time you could choose a subject you know more about, someone closer to home, say?”

Yeah. Right.

Johanna Mason- A Hero Of Panem

“Johanna Mason is a Victor from District 7. She is the subject of my paper. I am proud to call her a hero of Panem. She won the 71st Hunger Games at the age of 17. She served as a mentor to the Games for District 7 for three years. When the 3rd Quarter Quell was announced, Johanna once again became a Tribute. She did not serve willingly, and she was not afraid to stand up to President Snow and tell him so.  
Secretly, along with many others, including Victors, Games Makers, Designers, and Capitol and District citizens, she was a part of an underground rebellion. That rebellion was many years in the making.   
She was prepared to sacrifice her life in the Quarter Quell so that the Tributes from District 12 would survive. Because they all knew that for the Rebellion to succeed, they needed the Mockingjay to live. And they knew if her partner didn’t make it, she wouldn’t either.  
Johanna Mason was captured, along with Peeta Mellark, and Enobaria from District 2, when the Quarter Quell arena collapsed. She was tortured for information about the Rebellion. She never disclosed what she knew to the Capitol. When she was rescued, it was obvious she had suffered much abuse.  
She recovered in District 13 during the war, and trained as a soldier, though she never fought in the war.  
She survived the war and has given her time and energy trying to make Panem and District 7 better places to live.”  
The End.

At first, when Mother saw my marks on the paper, she was annoyed. “Are you kidding me? Who does this teacher think she is? I didn’t fight in two Hunger Games and a Rebellion so that my son would get this kind of treatment…” Then she finished reading the comments, “Well, at least you remembered rules number 1 and 2.”

“So. Does Johanna know about this?”

“Yeah. Told me what to say and everything.”

“Well, you need to call her and let her know how you did.”

And with that, Mother winked at me (WINKED AT ME! MOTHER!), and handed me the phone.


	6. Chapter 6: Living The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our ToastBaby girl is growing up.

They’re doing it again. Staring at me. It drives me crazy when they do this. Don’t they have better things to do? Like hunt? Or run the bakery? Or… just anything??? But they keep staring.

Father always gets this look that’s half sappy and half over-protective. Mother has this wistful look on her face.

All because a boy asked me to the school dance. I haven’t even decided if I want to go to the stupid thing, but Father automatically said no, and Mother said yes. So now I’m stuck in the middle.

“Peeta, let the girl go and have some fun. We never got to do any of this when we were her age.” Mother coaxes him, holding his hands and looking into his eyes.

“I know, but don’t you think she’s still too young?” Father fires back.

“Father! I am 16 years old!” I say defensively.

“I know.” he looks at me. “And I also know what 16 year old boys are like. I was one once, you know.” he says pointing a finger at me while mother tries her hardest to get him to put it down.

“Yeah, when you were 16 you were afraid to talk to mother!”

“But I know what I thought about!”

Our voices keep getting louder and louder.

“Really Peeta? What did you think about?” Mother teasingly asks father, trying to diffuse the situation.

“I’ll tell you later.  But not in front of the children.”

“Woah! Wait! We don’t need to hear any of this!” My little brother chimes in from the other room. He’s been avoiding the whole situation, preferring to not think about our parents and what they may or may not be doing.

“Plus, we’re discussing me going to the dance with Rojer.”  I say, trying to bring the conversation back around to the original topic.

Ever since Wren left those books here, I’ve avoided thinking about my parents as anything but that. As parents. Not star crossed teenage lovers, ew.

Mother looks at me wistfully again. She and father never had these chances that I have, that my brother has. When they were 16 they were both in The Hunger Games. I know what happened, because we studied them in school. But it’s so hard to think of Mother and Father fighting and killing. That is so far away from the peaceful people I know. They never even spanked or hit my brother and I growing up.

Then I think about when they were 17 and mother was The Mockingjay while Father was being tortured. And as I think on these things it hits me. Like it’s never hit me before. That’s why mother looks at me like she does. Because we’re doing the things she only dreamed we’d do. She never really knew if it would happen.

“Peeta. Leave her alone. Let her go. I’ve met Rojer. He’s a nice boy from a good family. They’re an old Seam family, they lived a street over from me growing up.” she says, running her hand up and down father’s arm, soothing him.

“Well. I guess a dance isn’t the end of the world.” he answers, almost defeated.

Mother puts her hands on father’s face, forcing him to look at her and only her. “Peeta, I want you to think back to the Quell. Remember when we were in that arena? When we kissed?”

“Uh, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t take that memory from me!’

“I had a dream Peeta, after that. I dreamt of your children, running free in the meadow. No worries. No cares. Peeta, that dream is one of the few that’s actually come true. It’s not just this dance, it’s everything. The dance, the meadow, the forest, hunting, baking. We’ve given our kids a chance, a better future. Let’s let them take it without interfering.”

And just like that, I understand. I understand the games she plays in her head to stay present, the lists she makes about good things. I understand why Father fights so hard to come back from an episode, and tries so hard to not scare us.

Because we’re their chance to do it over again. To have it the way it always should have been. Not just for them, but for Father’s brothers, and Auntie Prim. For my grandparents and great grandparents. For everyone who had to live under the threat of The Capitol and The Hunger Games.

It’s our time now. It’s our chance to get it right.

_____________________________________________

They’re staring again. Rojer just knocked on the door and Father is trying so hard to remain calm. And mother is looking at me like she doesn’t recognize me. “You’re so pretty, my dancing girl. I am so proud of you.” She hasn’t called me her dancing girl in years. Smiling, I try hard to hold back the tear that threatens to fall.

And just like that, my brother opens the door to let Rojer in.

He stands there a little awkwardly, as he hands me a flower that goes on my wrist. He tells me I look nice, and I see sweat forming on his brow. I decide to take a little pity on him. I know Rojer well enough to know that he is wondering how to get past my Father without raising any suspicions. So I take his hand, smile up at him, and lead Rojer out the door. But not before I can look back and blow them both a kiss to thank them. Thank them for _my_ time. For _now_. For a _future that is present._

 

****  
  



	7. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> As a Kindergarten teacher, I have the opportunity to read some really great children's books. One of my favorite books to read is Owl Moon by Jane Yolen. It's a beautiful story of a father who takes his young child "owling" late one winter evening. As I was reading it, all I could think was, "What if Katniss took her children to the woods early one morning? What if it was a family tradition?" That is where this entry idea comes from. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Special thanks to chele20035 for the quick read through and the notes!

Hunting (inspired by Owl Moon by Jane Yolen)

 

It was the perfect time of year. The leaves were turning from green, to saffron, to brown. There was a bite to the air in the early mornings that faded as the sun rose in the sky. The animals, fat from their foraging and saving up food, were a little slower, a little less cautious, as they prepare for their long winter’s nap.

 

He knew early spring was Mama’s favorite time of year, even though he was only five. But he couldn't help but think this time of year was best. In spring the animals were too skinny, after starving for the winter. But now? Now was the best time for Mama to put down a deer. No babies to worry about, plenty of meat on them to help last through the winter. Even enough to share with Haymitch.

 

He loved Haymitch, even though Mama and Papa rolled their eyes at the old man. But the geese! Oh he loved those geese. He'd chase them around the yard, just to hear them honk. Haymitch would pretend to be mad and tell his mama, “Get your brat away from my birds!” but he always gave the young boy a wink when he said it. 

 

Mama would get so angry with Haymitch though. “Well, keep your damn birds off my property old man!” Then she'd grab her son's hand and march him inside. It was all a great game to the young boy.

 

It was early one fall morning, so early the sun hadn't even made its way up to the horizon, that Mama woke him up, told him they were going to the lake to watch the sunrise. He knew this day was coming soon, his older sister told him about it. How Mama was going to wake him up early, take him to their lake. She said his turn was coming soon. And, in her ten year old wisdom, she told him he had to be quiet though. It was important not to disturb the forest, or the animals. Because, if they were quiet, and if they were lucky, they just might see him. The Great Buck.

 

The Great Buck was something of a legend in the Mellark household. The story goes that Mama came home from hunting one morning empty handed, but in awe. She had spent the night at the cabin by the lake, telling Papa that she wanted to try hunting from there for once. Papa wasn't really happy about it, but he knew it was something important to Mama, so he just asked that she come to the bakery as soon as she was finished, just to let him know she was alright.

 

She woke up just as the sun was rising, and the mist from the lake hovered over the landscape. As Mama stood in the doorway looking out over the lake, she saw him. A beautiful buck had walked out of the woods and made his way to the lake to drink. He was so close to the cabin that Mama could see exactly where the bucks antlers rose out of the hairs on his head. He was the most majestic creature Mama had ever seen. Even though she could easily reach for her bow and arrow and shoot the creature, she didn't. He was that beautiful.

 

Ever since that morning, Mama has made her way at this time of the year, through the woods in the early morning, just to try to get a glimpse of him. When his sister was five, mama took her. They didn't see the buck, but his sister still talks about the beauty of the lake and the mist. His sister likes to talk like Papa, and that kind of annoys him, but he doesn't say anything, he just rolls his eyes and Mama and Papa just smile at them.

 

So, when Mama wakes him up this morning, he knows what's going to happen. He knows Mama will make sure he's dressed warm enough. He knows Mama and Papa have packed a breakfast for them to eat when they get there. And he knows the most important part- you have to be as silent as the fog. Because only when it's silent will the woods show themselves to you. Only when it's silent, will the animals come out of hiding.

 

It's still dark when they leave the house. So dark he can barely see his hand in front of him. But he holds on tight to Mama’s hand. She knows these trails, these woods, like she knows her way around the house. She was born here, and though she may not be the artist Papa is, she made these trails, and they are as beautiful and as intricate as one of Papa’s prized paintings, or even one of his wedding cakes that people from all over the country come to buy.

 

They walk out into the darkness, mother and son, hand in hand, feet silent as if they were walking on moss. The full moon lights the way, like the nightlight in the hallway. Not too bright, but just enough to guide them. He wants to cling to his mama, but he doesn't want her to think he's afraid. If he's going to be a hunter like her, like her father, and his mother before him, then he must be brave. Everdeen’s know the woods, know the land won't harm them. Everdeen’s take care of the earth, because the earth takes care of them. That's what Mama said. He knows he is just as much an Everdeen hunter as he is a Mellark baker. But now, in this predawn morning, it's his grandfather Everdeen he feels at his side.

 

He wants to ask Mama if she thinks her papa would be proud to see his grandson in the woods, as quiet as any Everdeen hunter has ever been, but he knows now is not the time for words. Now is the time to swallow those words and hold on to them. If he forgets them, then they are words that were never meant to be spoken. If he remembers them, then they will still be there when he is able to talk. So he walks quiet, swallowing his words like he swallows the cupcakes Papa brings home from the bakery.

 

On and on they walk through the woods. Mama walks bravely through the dark, not jumping at the shadows cast by the moonlight. He wants Mama to be proud, to know he is as big a boy as his sister is a big girl, so he refuses to worry about the shadows. So what if each one looked like a wild dog? Or a mutt bear? Mama doesn’t flinch, not once. Her confidence passes down to her son. 

 

They came to the overlook. It is one of Mama’s favorite places. He's been here in the daylight before. Mama sometimes sits here and tells him stories of when she was a girl, hunting to take care of her small family. She would tell him stories of her friend Gale. 

He met Gale when he'd made a trip to 12 one time, it was part of his job as national security advisor. Mama rolled her eyes at that one, and Papa tried to hide his laugh. They had supper together, and it seemed nice enough, but once Gale left, Mama and Papa seemed to relax in a way they weren’t when Gale was there.

 

The overlook, during the day in the middle of summer, looks very different than it does in the early morning during the fall. The moonlight shines down into the valley below, like a giant with a great flashlight looking for something in the dark. Mama looks down at him here, a silent question. “Do you want to rest?” Her expression says. He shakes his head no. When you are looking for the Great Buck, you can't spend your time resting. You can rest when you get there. So on they walk.

 

His legs are beginning to grow tired, and his hands and feet are a little cold, but he won’t complain. He wants to be a great hunter, he wants Mama and Papa to be proud of him. When you’re a great hunter, you endure many hardships, you can handle the cold and the tired. Plus, he knew Mama and Papa suffered greater things than this, and if he wants anything in the world, it is to be as brave and as strong as they are.

 

Up over a hill and down into the valley they walk, on and on, no sound between them. No fear, no complaints. When they come to the final clearing he gasps only once. Mama looks down at him quickly. He covers his mouth with his hand, holding in all of the awe and wonder that he sees. The lake is before them, covered in mist, like his quilt covered his bed at home. It doesn’t look like their lake. It looks like something out of a picture book he has at home. They make their way around the lake to the little house and they sit quietly on the doorstep. 

 

And they wait.

 

After 5, 10, 15 minutes, they began to notice the forest waking up around them. It starts with the birds chirping out their good mornings to each other, like the shopkeepers in town do as they make their way to their storefronts. Then the sun begins its rise over the horizon. It starts off like a fire glowing in the distance. The mist shrouds the lake, though, keeping the fire at bay.

 

And then, they see him. Mama stiffens her body at first, which causes him to sit up straighter. He looks to her face and follows her eyes, then he sees him too. Standing at the edge of the lake. The Great Buck sniffs the air, like he knows someone is in the forest, but he can't tell where. Cautiously he leans forward, drinking out of the lake. One foot, two feet into the water he leans. He drinks until he's had his fill. The boy tries to count the points of the old deer’s antlers, but he lost count. All he can think right now is, “Those antlers are almost as big as me!”

 

A branch snaps in the distance, startling the creature. He pulls himself up, and leaps away faster than you can blink. Mama turns her head to the sound too, and carefully pulls out her bow and arrows that she has on her back. But the sound is nothing more than a mama raccoon and her babies making their way to the lake to drink as well. 

 

It's now that mama stands up and pulls him up to his feet. She smiles down to him, “What do you know big guy? We saw him today! I think I'll have to take you with me more often, you're my good luck charm!”

 

This makes him inexplicably happy. He will be a hunter. Just like his mama, and his grandfather, and his great-grandmother. He smiles back up to her, the pride on his face showing as bright as the morning sun which is burning the mist off the lake. 

 

“Let's get some breakfast. I'm thinking your Papa packed us some cheesebuns and tea!”

 

They quietly eat together, in the little house, exchanging no more than a few words. They have shared a special moment, mother and son. One that can never be repeated. Neither one of them are big talkers anyway. Not like Papa and his older sister. But they communicate in their own way. Through a look here, a touch there. Soon it's time to make their way home. Papa might start to worry about them if they stay much longer. Maybe Mama and Papa will bring the family here one more time before the snow flies.

  
They make their way home through the trees. All of the words he wanted to ask along the way are forgotten now. Probably weren't meant to be said. That's what mama would have told him. If he asked. 


	8. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:  
> I want to thank chele20035 and addictedtopeetamellark for their lovely read throughs of this chapter! Both of them are wonderful people and give wonderful feedback! So thank you ladies! 
> 
> I first wrote this for a drabble challenge (D12Drabbles) on Tumblr. The prompt was "children" and as it was graduation time here, my first thought was, "Katniss and Peeta's daughter is graduating. What would happen?" I've made a few small changes here and there. I hope you enjoy the TeenageToastBaby fluff!

 

"Here it is dancing girl, just the dress I was looking for," Mother says as she climbs out of the back of her closet. It's way back there, in the part of her closet no one ever seems to go. Where "those" dresses are hanging, the ones that are special. The ones that Cinna made. She unzips the bag, and I see it hanging there. A beautiful orange dress with a print of autumn leaves.

"You haven't called me 'dancing girl' in years!" I laugh at her.

"Oh, humor me, would you!" She smiles back, stroking my braid that has fallen over my shoulder.

I remember, when I was little, mother showed me all of those dresses. When I was five they were the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. Now that I'm about to graduate from high school, they are _still_ the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Mother used to tell me I could look but not touch. Today though, today is different. Today, I get to wear one of these dresses, and I think my mother has one picked out for me.

"Wow. It's just as beautiful as I remember it," I say with awe as my hand smooths down the fabric, feeling the cool cotton under my fingertips. Cinna was genius with fabric, and a needle and thread. I have heard over and over about Cinna and Portia. "Father must have loved this when he saw you in it." I smile at her.

"Did he? I don't remember," Mother says wistfully. "I do remember _thinking_ he would like it. It was just after I'd learned orange was his favorite color. We had just begun our Victory tour. I wore this when we were in 11… Why don't you try this one on?" she asks me as she hands it over.

It seems so natural now, to talk about her past like it was nothing too big. To talk about events from "Before" and from the "In Between". Like it was just another party. Like she wasn't a Victor of the Hunger Games. Like she and Father weren't responsible for inspiring the country into a full out rebellion.

It's taken Mother a few years to get to the point where she can accept the past for what it was, and live in the now, realizing she can't change the past but she can change the future. I know that Father was a huge part of Mother's recovery, but I also know that my little brother and I also played a part.

Father wasn't the only one who struggled with 'real' and 'not real'. Mother did too, just in a different way. When we were younger, Mother's bad days still seemed to come more frequent. There were days when she struggled to get out of bed. It was on those days that she would need to touch us the most, as if she was seeing if we were really there, really 'real'. Mother was always afraid that we would leave, that we weren't real enough. So on _those_ days, when she would force herself away from her pillow, she would hold our hands more when she spoke to us. There were more touches as she'd leave the room, or as we would come into one. She struggled to let us out of her sight, as if we would disappear if she couldn't see us. The fear that we could be gone in an instant was always in her eyes.

The week before I first began school was the hardest for mother, she told me not too long ago. She knew, at that point, that she could no longer protect me from her past. That, whatever she did in the Games, in the Rebellion, I would find out about, and it would be up to me to decide what I thought.

Father and Mother spoke to both me and my little brother. We knew their story, that they were in the Games, that they fought in the Rebellion. Before I started school, I used to love to look at The Book. I loved to look at my mother's beautiful handwriting, and my father's lifelike portraits. I knew all of their names, all of their stories: Aunt Prim, Finnick, Cinna, Boggs, Mitchell, Cato, Clove, Rue, Thresh… the list went on and on. So when I got to school, when I would open up my history books and see Mother and Father in them, both from the Games and from the war, I wasn't shocked. I knew the story. But I didn't know the full story. Not until I had heard all sides.

Everyone knows our name- Mellark. When I was younger, I thought it was because my father was the best baker in Panem. But as I grew, I found out differently. From the press who would randomly show up at our door, to the tourists that would stare at us as we walked down the dusty lane to town to get ice cream. I learned that we were "special" whether Mother and Father wanted that or not.

In primary school we learned of the Mockingjay, how she led our country to freedom. I remember having a counting book of Panem. _Twelve-12 Districts standing up together. Eleven- 11 Heroes the fighting Star Squad_ (I always found it funny that Mother and Father weren't included there). And the numbers went down from there until we got to _Two- 2 Victors, the Star Crossed Lovers. One- 1 Mockingjay to lead us to Freedom._

Mother always rolled her eyes at that book. Father just shook his head and went back to whatever he was doing. Both of them were always uncomfortable with the notoriety.

As I moved up in school, I would learn more and more about the history of Panem. I learned of the reapings, of the Hunger Games. It was always the worst when we'd watch a documentary about them. I found out later that it was Cressida who put the movie together, and she interviewed all of the surviving Victor's, including Mother and Father. I hated that part of school, because not only did I have to listen to my parents and their friends talk about the Games, I had to do it with my entire class staring at me. Those were rough times for me with my parents.

It's not that I wasn't proud of them, or the others. It's that I hated being singled out, and for a time I blamed them. I think it was easier to blame my parents than to actually think about what they had to go through. It was easier to be upset at how I was being treated, than to think about how they were treated.

A few years ago, my friends lent me a series of novels about my parents. I thought Mother was going to march to the Capitol and start another rebellion. It was a long while before Plutarch called the house, not that he was ever really welcome here to begin with. But after that, whatever we wanted, Plutarch would be sure to send.

As much as I knew it was an invasion on our family's privacy, I didn't really care at the time. I just wanted to be a normal kid in Panem. I just wanted my parents to be the baker and the hunter. I wanted the Star Crossed Lovers to be a thing of fiction, or someone else's parents. But after that incident, I started to look at things from their perspective. And I realized, no matter how much I may want it, the fact of the matter is, my parents _were_ the Star Crossed Lovers. My mother _is_ The Mockingjay. And as bad as it is for me as their daughter, it's ten times worse for them.

I never once thought of my parents as murderers. But finding out that they could kill people was hard for me. I always knew my parents loved me, and they never laid a hand on me or my brother. They were not vicious killers. They were kind and gentle. Coming to terms with that part of their past was hard on all of us, my brother included. But finding out that we didn't blame our parents for events that they couldn't control was the beginning of a second round of healing for our parents. Our family was always close, now it was even closer. We would always stand together, protect each other.

*************

"So, how about it? I think it would be perfect for your graduation," Mother says, interrupting me from my thoughts.

"I can't believe you're letting me touch this, let alone wear it," I say with awe. But I unzip it, and slip it on. It fits me almost as if it was made for me.

"Hey! Who knew you and I were the same size," Mother smiles at me. "You look perfect. Will you wear it?"

************

"Hurry up! It's time to go!" My father calls up to me. My high school graduation is this evening, and apparently we are in a hurry to get there.

As I walk down the stairs, I see my father's eyes light up, "Hey, I've seen that dress before. It's been a long time. It was beautiful on your mother, and it's just as beautiful on you." He seems to get a bit misty-eyed. Mother comes up behind him, kisses him on the cheek as she grabs his hand. My brother has gone to get Haymitch, and we all make our way to the high school. It's time for one of the Mockingjay's babies to spread her wings.


	9. Coach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to jennagill, chele20035, and louezem for prereading and giving such great advice. You girls rock!
> 
> This chapter is a tribute to Peeta Mellark the wrestler.

 

_**Coach** _

  


**_Go Miners!_ **

**_Pin ‘Em_ **

**_QUICK!_ **

I hear my sister and her friends cheering me from the edge of the mat. It’s like they’re in the distance though, more like background noise than a distraction.

I look up to the press box at the top of the bleachers. My mother and Haymitch sit together just below it, side by side. Haymitch has the look he usually wears, one of bemusement. But I can tell he’s watching me closely. I wonder if this is what he was like when he mentored Mother and Father during their games? My mother is nervous, I can see her fidgeting. She wants to get up and move, but she knows she can’t. She just stares down at me intently, her hands grasping the seat beneath her.

My father paces along the sideline, hands on his hips, looking down at the floor. He’s wearing his khaki slacks and black shirt with _District 12 Miners_ embroidered on the left hand side. No one has mined coal here since before the rebellion, but we are still stuck with that name. I suppose it could be worse, though. We could be the District 12 Medicinals, named after the medicine factory that employs most of the the district.

Back and forth he walks, like Buttercup the 3rd during a storm, just before the lightning cracks light up the sky and the thunder shakes the house. He is on full alert, in what my mother describes as “Coach Mode.”

My father was a high school wrestler. One of the best in the district Mother always says. “He finished second place only to his older brother.”

“Well, you know why I finished second though, right?” Father says, smiling at her.

“Sorry,” Mother says in mock self-defense. “How was I to know that just because I cheered you on that you’d lose? I didn't even know you then!”

The story was family legend by the time I was old enough to wrestle. My sister and I used to love hearing stories about “Before”, when Mother and Father were young, especially the happy ones. It is even in Mother and Father’s Memory Book, right along with the other Mellark family stories.

Father and his brothers were the best wrestlers in District 12. Every year they tried to get into the same weight class so they could officially wrestle to prove which brother was best. Because of the age spread, Father never could compete with his oldest brother, but the middle and the oldest had their competition. Turns out my middle uncle won, which made him that much more determined to wrestle Father. The year before Father was reaped was the last year they could since my uncle would be eligible to leave school at the end of that year. Father knew that if he could beat his brother, he'd officially be crowned the best Mellark.

Both he and his brother trained hard to get into the same weight class, and by the end of the season, it paid off. The gym was set for the final competition of the year. The other weight classes would be competing, but everyone knew why the big crowd was gathered. It was to watch the two younger Mellark brothers.

The match was tied going into the third round. It was back and forth after that. One would have the advantage, then the other. On and on it went until, suddenly, from the back of the gym, Father heard her. "Come on Peeta! You can do it!" As soon as he heard her voice, the match was over. Father lost his concentration and his brother took advantage. He was pinned within seconds.

  
"I was just so happy that Katniss Everdeen, the girl I'd had a crush on since I was 5 years old, knew my name that I lost focus. At that point, I didn’t even care." He always said with a smile. 

"The last thing I wanted was for your brother to win.” Mother would scowl.  “Class pride and all. Plus, your brother was kind of a jerk.”

  


**_Take him down!_ **

**_Take him down!_ **

**_Take him down, to the floor,_ **

**_2! 2! 2 points more!_ **

District 12 only has one high school, so we usually end up travelling to the other districts in order to have some decent competition. But since Mother isn’t allowed to travel, she has never been able to watch me. That’s why Father decided to host a tournament here in 12 once I started wrestling. Schools from 11, 7, and 4 are invited. I think he asks those schools because those are really the only districts he likes. District 11 because of the memories of Thresh and Rue, Districts 7 and 4 because Johanna and Annie and her son will come to visit as well.

My opponent for the finals is from District 4. This has caused some tension in the house. Annie’s son is the coach for 4’s swim team, so he came along as an acting assistant coach. All was fine until it became obvious I would be going up against his wrestler in the finals.

“Well, you’re going to have your work cut out,” he told me yesterday morning over bacon and eggs. “Our guy is fit, and he’s tough. I don’t know if you’re a real match for him.”

Mother took exception to this. She may not have wanted me to wrestle, but no one is as fierce and loyal as Mother. “I’m sorry. Did you imply my son can’t handle your competition? May I remind you who his parents are? The Victors from District 12? The Mockingjay? His father is a POW and war veteran?” Mother doesn’t bring her past up much, but when she does, she makes sure she uses it to intimidate whoever she is speaking too. “And Jo herself has given him tips. Do you know how I know _she_ knows how to wrestle? I saw her. While we were preparing for the Quarter Quell. The 75th Hunger Games that is.”

“No! No! I didn’t mean to imply that at all!” he sputters, backpedaling, and looking more abashed than usual.

“Good. Because my son is just as tough as any pampered kid from District 4. My son has earned everything he has. Nothing was given to _him_ on a silver platter.”

Breakfast was fairly quiet after that, and I noticed he didn’t come back until late last night. He claims the team meeting went long, but I really think he didn’t want to face Mother after that.

**_Show ‘em!_ **

**_How to wrestle!_ **

**_Show ‘em how to wrestle,_ **

**_Twist ‘em like a pretzel!_ **

Mother never really wanted Father to coach wrestling. She said it reminded her too much of “Before”, too much of what used to be.

“I know Katniss,” he told her one evening when we were younger. “I understand that. But doing this? It’s almost like I have my brothers again. Sometimes when I’m there with the kids, I think I can see them, standing off to the side watching. I miss them, and doing this reminds me of that. Can you understand that? Can you accept that for me?”

“Of course I can,” she said, a little sadly. “I get it, I do. And when you put it that way, I do understand.”

But even though Mother was resigned to Father coaching, it still bothered her when I decided I wanted to wrestle. “Seeing another blond Mellark wrestle? I don’t know.”

But wrestling was something I wanted to do. In a way I felt like I was carrying on a family tradition. “It’s like I have a connection to this family I never knew,” I told her one day.

“Fine. If that’s what you want to do, I won’t stop you,” she told me. “But don’t come to me when the going gets tough. You think you know your father,” she laughed then and wandered off, leaving me a bit terrified with that last comment.

I had been around the gym when I was younger, watching Father interact with his wrestlers. I thought I was so important because all of the older boys would smile at me and rub my head for good luck. Little did I realize, however, what Father was like as a coach, what he would be like as _my_ coach.

“He’s so hard on me!” I complained one evening to Mother and Haymitch as we were sitting on the porch after dinner.

“And that surprises you?” Haymitch laughed at me. “If I remember correctly, your mother tried to talk to you out of it.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d be this tough!” I whined back. Haymitch never was one for sympathy.

“Good thing you weren’t training for the Quarter Quell with us then, son!” he chuckled. “Your mother and I…”

“Haymitch!” Mother glared at him. “Enough. Now.”

“Oh fine then. Just listen up boy, everything your father is doing is to make you tougher. Just work with it, ok?”

“Yeah...OK.” I huffed, then got up and went to my room. I needed a break from everyone at that point.

  


**_Roll ‘em over!_ **

**_Lay ‘em flat!_ **

**_Roll ‘em over,_ **

**_Lay ‘em flat,_ **

**_Pin the shoulders,_ **

**_To the mat!_ **

It comes down to this. The final period of the match. If I win this, I win my weight class for the tournament, and have a good chance of getting an invitation to compete in the all-Panem games, one of the highest honors for wrestlers. Up until now, my opponent from District 4 and I are tied. Because I chose top for the second round, I'm on the bottom for the final.

I’m focussed. My hunter senses are on full alert. I’ve gone through all of the breathing techniques Father taught me, and I use the self-talk Mother taught. “I am in control. I can do this. I’ve got this.” 

Father is sitting on the bench now, staring intensely at me, and I can hear my sister yelling in the background, “You’ve got this! You can do it!”

But then it happens. From high up in the stands, in the press box, I hear her voice.

“If you can’t beat him, hurt him!”

And that’s when I lose it, even before we begin. I start to laugh. The referee blows the whistle, and in that moment of lapsed concentration, my opponent takes full advantage. He’s pinned me before I even realize what’s happened. I can’t help but laugh. I get up and look around the gym. Everyone seems to be in a state of shock. Everyone but my family.

Father sits on the bench, head in his hands. His body shakes up and down, but since he won’t look up, I can’t tell if he’s laughing or crying.

My sister is laughing though. Laughing uncontrollably over at the end of the mat. Her friends look at her oddly, but it’s obvious she can’t help it.

Haymitch is laughing too. Guffawing is more like it. If there were room, he’d be rolling around.

Mother isn’t laughing though. She’s standing there, with a horrified look on her face, hands over her mouth.

And it’s then, in that instant, that everyone in the family knows what has happened.

  
Katniss Everdeen has caused yet another Mellark wrestler to lose the most important match of his young life.


End file.
